In The Long Run
by PalindromeIsntOne
Summary: IkexMarth AU. Ike's a marathon runner who Marth has developed a crush on. Impressing him would probably involve becoming a runner himself... but Marth hates excercise. Humour and romance.
1. The Reason

Link and Zelda had that look on their faces again, which meant only one thing. They were plotting something. Marth approached them anxiously, all too aware that he would probably be forced to play pawn in their plans. Sure enough, as soon as he got within hearing range Zelda put on a whining voice and said,

"Marth, we've had the most brilliant idea. And we want you to be part of it."

"Erm, guys, you said…"

"That last time would be the last, we know, we _know_. But come on, you gotta hear us out at least."

Marth crossed his arms. "Alright, what is it this time?"

The two of them exchanged glances, smiling. Link spoke. "It's Ike. You don't know him, but he's a friend of a friend who's cousin's uncle's sister once slept with my great grandfather."

"Erm…" He hadn't followed any of that. He probably didn't need to. He yawned.

"_Anyway_, he's been hitting on Zelda, which is irritating, as you might imagine." A tint of jealousy clouded Link's voice and he put a protective arm around Zelda. But then he continued brightly, "So we were thinking you could flirt with him and then break his heart and pay him back!"

"Please Marth," Zelda chipped in. "It's not good for our relationship."

Marth looked between the two of them. They looked more or less the same as always, kinda… lovey-dovey, was that the term?

"Look, I've done God-knows-what over the past two years for you guys – I am _not_, I repeat, _not_, dressing up like a girl ever, _ever_ again!"

There was a long, long silence as Link and Zelda tried not to laugh and Marth tried not to blush, unpleasant memories filling his head. Him in dresses, skirts, _cardigans._ Oh, the _shame_. He didn't even know why he had done it… except he did. Because they had dared him, threatened his honour and made him feel obliged to prove himself. But not any more.

"I will _not_ participate!" he said, louder than he had to. Zelda just blinked.

"You chicken?"

"No."

"Then why won't you do it?"

"Because it's humiliating!"

"You're chicken."

"Am not!"

"_Chicken._"

"I'm not going to do it!"

"You pathetic. Honestly, it's not even a big deal. It would be a great help to me and Link, please. Ike is such a pain."

Marth turned and walked back away from them, turning back only at the door and saying, "I suppose this guy's straight."

"Yeah."

He should have known. They wanted him to wear _more_ dresses. They were both trying to smirk, he could see it in their eyes.

"NO! And that's final!" he yelled, and then stormed out, the door not quite closed when Zelda and Link burst into giggles, already expecting him to go through with it.

*

The following morning was slow to arrive. Yawning, Marth rolled out of bed and walked to the window. It was a beautiful sunny day, just a few joggers running around, preparing for the Handers Championship, which took place every year, a marathon of thirty one miles, no less, stretching all the way from Britch Tower to Notsleigh Fields.

After a quick breakfast he decided to go for a quick walk. It was a beautiful day, and hopefully if he took the sheltered walk on the side of the park he wouldn't accidentally bump into Link or Zelda. Beside the path, a small stream wound it's way around the edge of the park, carrying on its surface the first newly fallen leaves of autumn. The Handers Championship was only a week away. Marth had never been a fan of exercise. He took part in the occasional duel, but otherwise he was perfectly slim and well-built as he was, he didn't need to lose weight or gain muscle by exercising. If he was honest, he _hated_ it, the way it made him all red in the face and gave him a sweaty back. It didn't suit him at all.

A small yellow bird fluttered past his face, and he turned his head to follow its path. Being yellow, it was quickly lost amidst all the yellowing leaves of trees and annoyed, Marth wandered a few paces to the left to get a better view, when suddenly a heavy force slammed into him from behind, throwing him forward and sending him and whatever had hit him forwards into the leaves.

"Dear me, I'm sorry, are you alright?"

Marth looked up at the sound of the strange voice, and found that it belonged to a jogger, who was holding out a hand for him to help himself up. He took it, and was hauled easily to his feet.

"I'm fine," he sighed, brushing himself down.

"Apologies, I was lost in thought. These mp3's cut off your sense of the world, perhaps not always a good thing." He chucked in a friendly way.

"Erm…" Marth blushed. The stranger before him had well defined muscles, which were highlighted by the fact he only wore Lycra shorts, his navy blue hair tied back with a polka-dot bandana. The mp3 was clipped onto the shorts, and one of the earplugs was in the man's ear, the other dangling by his side. He was very masculine, and very attractive.

"I'm fine," Marth said at last. "Just took me be surprise."

"Ah, yes, the element of surprise always does it." There was something about the way he said it that was decidedly suggestive, and Marth had to smother another blush. Seeing he was lost for words, the man held out his hand again, though this time not to help him up, just for a handshake. Marth took it.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ike."

"_Ike_?" No _way_.

"Yes." He waited. When Marth just continued to stare at him without speaking he prompted, "And you are?"

"Marth."

"Marth. How lovely to meet you."

Oh _God_, this man was _gorgeous_. He was about to strike up a conversation when he remembered saying, _"I suppose this guy's straight…"_ and then the response "…_Yeah."_

"Pleasure. Well, see you then."

"See you round." He was gone in a moment, jogging easily off down the path. _Fit_.

*

"I ACCEPT!" Marth yelled, running into Zelda and Link's shared office.

"Yes, that'll be lovely. If you could just drop that off tomorrow that'd be great. Thanks. Bye." Zelda hung up the phone. "Accept what?"

"I'll do it!"

"Do what?"

"You know, the _dare_."

"_Oh_. _That_!"

"Yeah." Marth looked down at his feet.

"Why the change of heart?"

Marth's eyes flickered over the desk, not wanting to explain himself, and then suddenly saw a picture of Ike on Zelda's desk, stripped to the waist in his Lycra shorts, just like Marth had seen him. His eyes widened in interest. Suddenly Zelda caught his gaze, and with a guilty look quickly snapped it up and slid it into a drawer. Then she looked up and smiled.

"Bumped into him when he was running, did you?"

Marth looked down at his feet. "Yeah."

"Well that's great!" She leapt to her feet and clasped one of his hands in both her own and shook it vigorously. "Thank you!"

"This really will be the _last_ time I do a dare for you."

Zelda laughed. "Yeah, yeah. So you'll be wearing a dress, I take it?"

"Probably not," Marth muttered even quieter. But if this Ike was straight, then his only chance of seducing him probably involved looking as feminine as possible. He sighed, missing the first part of Zelda's sentence.

"…join the gym."

"_What?_"

"Ike's a marathon runner, in case you haven't worked it out. You're most likely to bump into him _at the gym_."

Pictures of himself in a mirror after exercise flashed before his eyes. Red faced, gasping through his open mouth, sweat running in trickles down his forehead. He shuddered involuntarily.

"Never knew you were such a fan of exercise," remarked Zelda sarcastically, noticing his quickly paling face. Laughing, she struck a pose leaning against the desk behind her, flattering her own, perfect figure as a taunt.

"Well if you want to know Ike…" she trailed off playfully.

Through gritted teeth he muttered back. "Fine. I'll join the gym."

There was a long, meaningful silence, then Zelda popped in brightly, "Great! Because I've already got you membership!" She handed him a slip of paper, and without a word he took it and left the office, only checking when he was outside the date it had been signed, and finding that she had signed him up for it even before he had even been informed of the dare. He hurried home, clutching desperately at the remains of his dignity.

* * *

**How will Marth fair at the gym I wonder? Please review :)**


	2. Monday

Monday. It was morning, 8am, far too early to get up yet, but Marth had to do his hour at the gym. He was beginning to think on giving up on the whole idea – was Ike really worth it? But nevertheless he pulled on a small white dress over some shorts and laced up a new pair of trainers, then threw a towel, a large bottle of water and a spare t-shirt into a bag, and walked down the short road to the gym.

It turned out his motivation for going there had arrived even earlier than him, and was running on one of a whole row of treadmills facing a big television. Reluctantly Marth took up his place beside him and began to run at a gentle pace, hoping to avoid a sweat.

"Didn't realise you came here – I don't recall seeing you around, my apologies," Ike began, without turning his attention away from the television screen.

"No, actually, I've only just joined," Marth replied. How could this guy breathe and talk _and_ run at a faster pace than him all at the same time?

"How about that!"

"I'm training for the Handers Championship," he said on the spur of the moment.

"So am I! It's only a week away, I'm so excited."

"Yeah." Marth didn't attempt a longer sentence, he was already short of breath. A week away! Yes, it was as well, now he thought about it, and cursed his stupidity. Oh God, how was he going to talk his way out of it?

Ike set his treadmill at a faster pace, switching into a faster gait without any obvious effort. "Oh, and by the way, I admire your confidence. Not many gay men have the guts to dress the way they want to."

Marth turned red instantly. But he looked like a girl! Yet Ike had known he was a guy! The humiliation hit him like a ton of bricks, and he froze briefly on the treadmill, and took a second to resume his pace.

"No offence. I think it suits you. You really carry it off; you almost look like a girl."

If it was possible to turn a shade any redder than he already was, Marth reached it in that moment. He focussed on his running, trying to breathe, which is actually quite hard when you have a severe stitch in your side – the only thing that stopped him keeling over was the fact he had a stitch in his other side too, and they balanced each other out. He hoped to remain silent for the remaining duration of his hour, but it seemed Ike hadn't finished.

"So how many miles have you tried so far?"

"Pardon?"

"Well it's recommended you practice about halfway, which is fifteen and a half miles, but not actually do the whole length until the Championship itself."

"Right." Breathe in, breathe out. If he had any breath left he might have moaned in pain at his straining muscles.

"So how many miles have you tried so far?"

"Ten," he said, improvising. Breathe in, breathe–

"That's not so good. You better practice the fifteen and a half sometime this week then."

"Ok." _Gasp_. Breathe in, br–

"How's Wednesday for you?"

"What?" _Must… stop… treadmill…_

"You know, we could go running together. That'll give you a day to try out twelve or thirteen miles on yourself, seeing as today is Monday."

Marth gasped, choked, strained hopelessly for air and collapsed, the treadmill rolling him onto the floor. Humiliated, he tried to stand up, but all his blood was rushing in some weird direction and he topped over to one side. Ike slowed his own treadmill to a halt and knelt down beside Marth, who was trying to stand up again, and failing miserably as exhaustion dragged down his limbs. Had gravity increased tenfold while he was looking the other way?

"You alright there Marth?" Ike put a hand on his forehead.

Marth just nodded.

"You're overheating," he said, sounding worried.

_No surprise there. _Did he have to lean so close? So much for his forehead – his stomach was positively break-dancing. Ike passed him a bottle of water and Marth drank in between gasps. Then he staggered upright and began to head for the door, unwilling to embarrass himself a moment longer.

"See you Wednesday!" Ike called after him. Marth looked back at him, uncomprehending, and saw his expression was one of kindly suppressed laughter. It was only when he was well on the way back to his house that he remembered he had forgotten to talk his way out of the Handers Championship.

Afternoon came, and having recovered from the morning's excursion, Marth was wondering if he should tell Ike as soon as possible that there was _no possible way_ that he could do the Handers Championship, that saying he would run it had been a spur of the moment thing and completely foolish in hindsight. Would Ike think less of him for it? Oh dear, what if he did? Marth poured himself a cup of tea and drank it slowly, pacing the length of the kitchen and muttering to himself. He couldn't run a Handers Championship. He had never run a long distance race in his life. He wasn't fit enough to run one. He hated running. Exercise made him ugly. He only had a week to train. Then like an unexpected rainbow in his mind, he saw Ike in his Lycra shorts, one eyebrow raised flirtatiously, saying, "See you Wednesday!"

"Oh come on, there are other ways to impress you, aren't there?" he asked, addressing one of the cabinets absently. The vision reappeared, smiling in the polished wood. He stood there like a god, his skin glowing with a golden tan. "See you Wednesday!"

"You're straight anyway. And you know I'm a guy, so it's not as if you're ever going to fancy me…" he sighed, turning to the fridge. A picture of his father on a holiday in Sambrisha which was pinned there briefly morphed into Ike posing in his Lycra shorts, somewhat incongruous with the snowy background. He winked.

"See you Wednesday!"

"I can talk my way out of this stupidity, right?" he said, leaving the fridge with the intention to go into the lounge when the kettle caught his eye. Ike's face grinned back at him. That looked _so_ realistic. Who cared if it was all a delusion? There was no one watching him anyway. He walked up to the kettle and bent over, placing his lips on the lips of the imaginary Ike's.

"_Marth?!_ Why the hell are you kissing a kettle?"

"!" Marth screamed, a couple of octaves higher than appropriate for a grown man. He leapt away from the kettle instantly and turned to face the direction of the noise. It was Zelda, looking in through the kitchen window.

"Let me in!"

"Hasn't anyone told you it's bad to spy on people?"

"No. Actually, I feel compelled to continue. I never realised you were so crazy when you think no one is watching you."

By now Marth had passed the limit for humiliation, and simply answered the door.

"Nice scream by the way." She raised an eyebrow.

"Yes Zelda." He stood out of the way and allowed her into the lounge.

"So it's going well I take it?"

"Yes Zelda," he repeated emotionlessly.

"I've heard you're running the Handers Championship?"

"Yes Zelda."

"Bet you're wondering how I knew."

"Yes Zelda."

"I was watching you in the gym, though you didn't see me at all."

"Yes Zelda." By now he had more or less tuned her out.

"Can you say something other than 'Yes Zelda'?" she asked.

"Yes Zelda," he said, not hearing her.

"Are you going to keep saying that?"

"Yes Zelda."

"Are you wearing a thong?"

"Yes Zelda."

With that she cracked up, falling off the sofa onto the floor, tears coming from her eyes. Marth just blinked, having completely missed the joke. Eventually she recovered and climbed back onto the sofa, smiling. Marth waited.

"I have something for you," she announced importantly.

"Ok."

"Two things actually. One, you have your own personal mentor! I know you're not much of an exercise person, so I hired this guy to follow you around for the rest of the week and make sure you go to the gym!"

"Right." Somehow 'thank you' really _didn't_ come to mind.

"He'll arrive in a bit."

"And the other thing?"

"Here." She put the picture of Ike that he had seen before on her desk in front of him. "For motivation," she whispered. Then, suppressing yet more giggles, she stood and let herself out the front door. Marth watched her go, and only when he was sure she was gone, really _really_ gone, he picked up the picture and ran a finger down Ike's chest. He would run the Handers Championship even if it killed him.

Evening arrived, bringing with it a quiet peace that seemed to have been lacking all day. Appreciatively, Marth stretched out on the sofa, relaxing against the cushions. All in all, he felt good, but he would have to get Zelda back for spying on him. He had got around to changing out of the white dress from earlier, and now was comfortably attired in baggy jeans and a white top. Prime time for some television, he thought happily, reaching for the remote. Just then there was a heavy knock on the door. Thinking it was Zelda, he stormed up to the door and wrenched it open.

"Will you please stop spying o… oh." Ok, he was looking at a collarbone. That was weird. He stepped back and looked up.

"Hello?"

A bulky man, easily a foot taller than him and wearing an army uniform, smiled down at him. He would have looked frighteningly serious if it wasn't for the extremely red afro that sat on top of his head rather like a large electrocuted duckling.

"Zelda hired me. You're Marth right?"

"Yes," Marth squeaked. It must be that mentor she had talked about. He'd almost forgotten.

"Well don't just stand there!" the man bellowed suddenly, making him jump. "Get your trainers on now!" From behind him he revealed a large fly swat grasped tightly in one fist.

"What's that for?"

The man moved his arm with unnatural speed and hit him with it on the top of his left arm.

"Ow!"

"Get your trainers on. You can call me Sir. Roy if I decide I like you."

"Yes R-Roy, I-I m-mean…"

The fly swat came down again. Marth decided it might be best if he just put his trainers on.

In the end it wasn't as bad as Marth had expected. Roy was a harsh teacher, and by the end his left arm was quite sore from being hit by the fly swat, but other than that it had been refreshing, although tiring. Sort of…motivating. Roy himself never tired at all, and Marth wondered if he was a marathon runner in his spare time.

From the safety of his bed, Marth sighed. Who was he kidding? It had been a disaster. All that endless road! He was _never_ going to be able to run the Handers Championship.

* * *

**Roy - friend or foe? And will Marth be able to keep a straight face if he ever looks at that kettle again? The training continues.. :P**


	3. Tuesday

Tuesday. There was a heavy knocking on his door which slowly brought Marth through several layers of sleep until, breaking free from the tendrils of a dream, he rolled out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown and peered out through his curtains to see who was knocking on his door so early.

"No way. Uh-uh. No. _Nope._ Nopedy-nope. Definitely not good." Muttering to himself Marth changed quickly into yet another pair of jeans and a pink t-shirt (it had been white before he had stupidly put it in the wash with a red scarf.) Then he padded sleepily down to the front door, and as an afterthought, pulled on his trainers before opening it.

"Morning."

"Morning sir," he replied groggily.

"Had breakfast?"

"No."

Roy seemed to swell with anger, and practically _chased_ Marth into the kitchen, banging the door shut behind him.

"Do you mind not doing that?"

"Eat eat eat eat," Roy chanted, banging his fork on the table and making yet _more _milk slop out of Marth's cereal bowl. Sighing, Marth took another nervous bite and repeated his question.

"Eat eat eat eat," Roy continued to chant. With great effort Marth took another bite, with his other hand saving his bowl from jiggling steadily off the table thanks to Roy hitting it. For God's sake, he wasn't even _eating _anything. Why did he have to hit that fork on the table? Did he have a penchant for forks or something?

"Eat eat eat eat."

"Alright, alright, I'm done already," Marth said, swallowing his final mouthful and looking up at Roy, who seemed to have made the table shrink just by sitting at it. But at this news, he stood, and the table resumed its normal size. Instead, the ceiling shortened. Marth threw his bowl in the sink and left the house, narrowly followed by Roy's fly swat, which was narrowly followed by the man himself. Partly out of terror, partly because he knew it was required of him, Marth broke into a fast jog.

Several hours and a strange picnic later, Marth half ran, half walked, and half staggered back to his house, Roy maintaining a steady pace just behind him. At the door Marth slumped down onto his bottom and rested his head on his knees, not caring what Roy thought. Roy swatted him. Suddenly remembering why he cared what Roy thought, he got to his feet and opened the door before heading inside.

"Hmm. Good," said Roy. It was the only nice thing he'd said all day, but Marth had no breath to thank him.

"Only five o'clock. Later you go to gym."

"_What_?" This man had to be kidding, right? Marth turned around, leaning against the door frame.

"I escort you."

"No _way._ I'm sorry, but that was too much. I don't even know _how_ far I ran just then, but I am _not_ going to the gym later, you hear me?"

"I'll see you at seven." Marth sighed and Roy smiled. "You will be so good you will be better than me."

"Are you joking?"

"You are a lot fitter than you think you are."

"Yeah right." Marth took a few more haggard breaths.

"You _want_ to be better than me, I think."

"Why?" Marth asked, curious. That would take _years_ of work, surely? All he wanted was to run one lousy Handers Championship.

"Zelda said you like Ike."

He blushed. "I don't think I need to impress him _that_ much."

"Then you will not run race together."

"What?" That didn't sound nice.

"He will take faster pace."

"I don't understand."

"Ike runs faster than me. You want to be equal to Ike, you got to be better than me."

"You're serious?"

"Correct."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Keep eating a lot of protein," Roy advised, and then he left, _still_ jogging. Not knowing what to think, Marth headed inside to fry up some bacon. _You are a lot fitter than you think you are_. What a loud of rubbish. He had almost died on the treadmills on Monday, practically collapsed today, and today wasn't even over! Going to the gym tonight indeed, who did Roy think he was? He went to the nearest cupboard and took out a protein shake, downing it in one. Ridiculous. He would rebel against this! Why was he doing this again? Wandering over to the bacon strips he plucked them off the saucepan and pushed them, whole, straight into his mouth.

"HOT!" Puffing like an extreme nicotine addict given his first cigarette in months, he danced around the kitchen, toes pointed, a habit he'd kept ever since giving up ballet at ten years old. He couldn't believe he was effectively _competing_ against Roy now. That really annoyed him. Talk about unfair advantage! He had been duelling for years now and he knew about what was a fair and an unfair fight. Duelling had also made him competitive, and even more aware of what was fair and unfair. Irritated, he put another few strips of bacon on the pan and paced. How could Roy expect him to be faster than him in five days? Five days! Then the Handers Championship itself. It was a hopeless business. And he would be attempting to run half of it with Ike tomorrow anyway. Half! He moved back towards the pan and tilted the entire contents into his open mouth, including the oil.

"HOT!" Puffing like a woman in labour he resumed dancing around the kitchen with pointed toes. What was the advice Roy had given him anyway? He couldn't remember. He put more bacon into the pan and slowed to a walk. How was he suppose to seduce Ike anyway? It was all very well impressing him with this Handers Championship running business, but how was he supposed to go about flirting with him? Could he even assume they could get along as just friends? He barely knew the guy. And then he remembered something, or rather, _re-_remembered it. Ike was straight, that's what Zelda had said. Of course, that was how she persuaded him to wear a dress. The whole idea of him seducing Ike was already down the drain. He should tell Zelda that and have the whole thing over and done with. The thought made him sad. He moved back to the pan and used a wooden spoon to shovel the bacon into his mouth. Mmm, he loved bacon, but…

"HOT!" Puffing like a train on cocaine in pain he resumed dancing, this time putting a whole pirouette into his odd routine. Ow, that was painful. He really should learn to blow on his food before he ate it.

The evening saw the return of the gym. Marth decided that if there was a hell, his was bound to be one long endless grey treadmill, going nowhere for eternity. His consolation was that he ran alongside Ike, who, as usual, managed to make it look _easy_. Roy was on the other side of the hall on his own treadmill, watching the television screen.

"You're not wearing a dress tonight. Didn't see you this morning either," Ike commented.

"Was out jogging."

"I liked you in a dress. Sorry if I made you self conscious about it. Most people probably think you're a girl."

"They do, unless they know I'm not. How did you know?"

"Hard to say…You look like you've grown muscle overnight. How much have you been training?"

"Oh, a fair bit," Marth acknowledged, thinking of the fly swat.

"Amazing – you can even run and talk the same time. Anybody would think you've been running constantly since Monday."

_Almost_. "Thanks."

Ike smiled, and changed topic, slowing his treadmill down so that he could talk more easily. They talked of simple things, the news and weather, what food they liked (it turned out that Ike was a bacon fan too), and places they'd like to see. Then, leading on from the fact Marth had worn a dress, they discussed fashion trends, followed by dating (they both loved candlelight), and then homophobia. The conversation flowed so naturally that it was as if Marth had known Ike all his life, and was barely aware of the exercise he was doing, so focussed was he on gathering every bit of information about Ike he could pick up on and storing it in his memory. Far too soon his allocated hour ended, and he said goodbye with some reluctance so that he could head home. Roy, engrossed with watching the television, didn't escort him, another bonus.

* * *

**Ike and Marth's half-marathon practice tomorrow... and Marth's overdue for an incident with a hedge...**


	4. Wednesday

Wednesday. There was a heavy knocking on his door which slowly dragged Marth out his peaceful sleep. He recognised that knocking. His brain still slow to respond, he rolled out of bed and padded downstairs to the front door, intending to see who it was. Then he remembered why the knocking sounded so familiar. Roy.

"Oh no, not good, definitely NOT good."

"Open the door!"

With a whimper Marth raced back upstairs to get changed and then ran back downstairs to have breakfast before the eat-eat-eat monster barged down the door. He finished his cereal, fought down a severe case of heartburn and wrenched open the door.

"SHIT!"

"Nice to see you too," said Ike.

"I thought you were someone else."

"Thank God."

"Right, right… yes…w-well…"

"So, are you all set for running today?"

"Er, well, yes, I suppose so." He looked down at himself, embarrassed. How had he managed to forget that Ike would be coming over? Expecting Roy, he had dressed practically for running, and was bare-chested with blue leggings, and white sweat bands around his wrists and forehead. Of course, it was a warm day and he would be doing lots of running, but in front of Ike he felt irrationally exposed, and tried to fend off the desire to race back upstairs and grab the nearest long-sleeved t-shirt he could find.

"Ready then?"

Marth looked at Ike, clad as he had been when Marth had first met him in Lycra shorts and a polka-dot bandana, and for a long moment mistook Ike's meaning.

"Yes," he breathed, and then coughed loudly. "I mean, yes, let's go…" Blushing, he began to jog, already feeling a bit tired at the thought of running fifteen and a half miles. Oh god. _Fifteen and a half miles._ What was he doing?

They covered the first few miles in silence. Marth was all too aware of how loud he was breathing in comparison to Ike, but if he tried to breathe quieter the oxygen reaching his muscles halved, and he ended up gasping. The silence unnerved him, but apart from general conversation on the weather and the upcoming Championship, there wasn't a lot to say. However, though it was probably out of kindness, Ike didn't run too fast, and he kept pace with relative ease.

"There."

"What?" Marth blinked, coming out of his reverie. Ike was pointing at a nearby field they were passing. It was filled with all sorts of different coloured flowers, and it lifted Marth's spirits to see it. Ike slowed to a halt to admire it and Marth made use of the opportunity to catch his breath.

"Notsleigh Fields. Where the race ends. Beautiful, isn't it?" Ike smiled. Marth could only nod in agreement.

"Shall we take a detour and go see it closer up?"

"Sure."

Ike wandered to the side of the dirt track to examine a gap in the hedge that barred access to the fields beyond. Marth knelt down beside him.

"Are you going to crawl through there?" he asked.

"I used to," Ike muttered, mostly to himself. "When I was younger I used to come here every day through this gap." He sighed, and then said louder, "But now I am bigger and the hole has grown smaller." He looked to Marth and gave a mischievous grin. "Shall we try anyway?"

"Ok." Marth shrugged.

Ike lay on his stomach and began to worm his way through. At length he managed it, and called back for Marth to join him. So, feeling childish, Marth pushed his way through the gap, but halfway through a thorn caught on his leggings, stopping him. He tried to pull free, but only succeeded in getting even more stuck. Once more he struggled, and then gave Ike an embarrassed expression.

"I'm stuck."

"Here." Ike held out his hand and Marth grabbed it, but as Ike began to heave him out, Marth realised he had a terrible decision to make. Either he could clamp his legs together and be pulled free with half a hedge stuck to his bottom, or he could loose his leggings.

"How did you manage to get so stuck?" joked Ike, giving another heave, almost pulling Marth's arms out of their sockets, but then, with a rip, he was free, and they both tumbled backwards into the warm grass. Ike got up, laughing, and helped Marth to his feet with no degree of awkwardness, although Marth himself was blushing redder than the slight sunburn he was developing could cover for. Left in only his penguin-printed boxer shorts, he tried to look Ike in the eye, and failed. Ike laughed, but understanding Marth's embarrassment, looked away slightly when he spoke again.

"I don't suppose you can salvage your leggings?"

"Erm…" Marth turned back to the hedge and tried to salvage them, but it would take more than sheer brawn to unhook them – the amount of thorns sticking in them from every direction meant that to remove them would be a bit like navigating through a 3D maze.

"Are you alright?"

_Damn it Marth, stop blushing. Get a grip on yourself. _"Yes, thanks." Should he just tear them free? What if they ripped in all the wrong places? Marth blushed again, putting his head down to hide his face, and then remembered that it would do no use, as the large floppy side fringe that would normally fall forward and save him had been conveniently clipped back for jogging. At least kneeling down as he was, he could have some modesty in the long grass. After a few more moments of struggling he looked around to check where Ike was, and found he had respectfully wandered away and appeared to be examining some flowers. He redirected his attention to freeing his leggings.

"_Marth?!_" Zelda's face eyed him through the hole and then crinkled in laughter.

"Zelda!? What are you doing here?"

"Well, before I answer that, perhaps you would like to tell me why I've just seen you crawl through a hole in the hedge after Ike, into a field with _conveniently_ long grass, and are now missing your leggings?" The suggestion dripped from her voice.

"We were just going to look at the field…"

Zelda laughed. "Right. And naturally you wouldn't need your leggings during such an activity. May I ask, does Ike not need his shorts either?"

Marth turned crimson. "I can't help it! They got stuck in the hedge!"

"You know, that is like, the _worst_ excuse I've ever heard."

"Zelda! Please!"

Marth turned around to see Ike turning, as if in slow motion, in his direction. His instinct was to run, and without thinking he had dived back through the gap in the hedge and was halfway through when Zelda interrupted him.

"Look, if you really _did_ lose your leggings trying to get through _that_ way, do you really think it's wise to try and make it back through this way?"

Marth froze mid-wriggle, and gave Zelda a horrified look.

"Marth?" Ike's voice came from behind him, and Marth suddenly became all too aware that Ike would now have a prime view of his boxer shorts sticking out of the hedge.

"Zelda, move!"

"Oh no, I'm having _far _too much fun," giggled Zelda.

"Zelda, this really isn't funny," Marth muttered sternly, but was drowned out by a fit of hysterics.

"Marth?" Ike again. There was a hint of laughter in his voice too.

"Zelda? Wha– _Marth?!_" Link. Oh great. Had _everyone_ come out to watch his humiliation? Just then he felt hands grab his ankles and he felt himself being hauled backwards, back into the field. On the other side of the hedge he could hear Link talking to Zelda.

"What was that about?" asked Link, evidently suspicious of the circumstances of a half-naked Marth being dragged back into a private field with Ike.

"Just leave them to it." Their voices faded away.

"So, what exactly _were_ you trying to do just then?" asked Ike.

"I was… you were turning around and I…" he shrugged helplessly, watching Ike's expression, which started as a sympathetic smile but then widened and widened, and eventually burst out with a choking laugh.

"I'm sorry," he gasped through another laugh. Smothering his amusement, he wandered over to the gap and disentangled Marth's leggings before handing them back to him. Marth pulled them on gratefully.

"Am I to understand," Ike asked after a short pause, "that when you thought I was turning around and dived through the hole in the hedge, that was a failed attempt at hiding from me?"

"No," Marth muttered, too quickly.

Ike frowned a little, though he kept smiling. "You haven't got anything to be ashamed of, you know. You look just fine in boxer shorts."

"Um… thanks." Marth glowed inwardly. Ike had said he looked 'just fine'. Ok, so it was 'fine' and not stunning, or beautiful, but then Ike was straight after all. A compliment was still a compliment. He felt like telling Ike that he, too, looked great in just shorts, but thought better of it. For the first time he looked at the field undistracted. It was beautiful, the sunlight coming off millions of different coloured flowers.

"You said you came here when you were younger?" Marth asked.

"Yes. I thought the flowers were beautiful, but even when they were not in bloom it was still lovely here with all the swaying grasses. I loved being so close to nature." He paused. "There's a certain type of wild mint that grows here that doesn't grow anywhere else, but it's very hard to find. Some say it's good luck, but I think it's just delicious." He smiled at Marth.

"What does it look like?" He could do with some good luck. He needed a miracle if he was going to run this Handers Championship, but some good luck would certainly help.

"It's quite small. It's normally all folded up in a bulb shape, and you have to carefully peel away each layer of leaves before you can get to the centre where the flower is. But sometimes when the sun is strong it unfolds itself for you, and its heart is big and tender, topped with a pretty blue flower the colour of your hair." He added the last bit so easily Math almost missed the fact it referred to him, and the idea of his hair being a 'pretty blue' cheered him up so much that for a moment he forgot about all his previous embarrassment.

"Shall we finish our run now?" Ike suggested. Marth just nodded.

Marth pulled his knees up on the sofa and wrapped his hands around the mug of hot chocolate, biting his lip thoughtfully. It was amazing how normal the run had proceeded afterwards, considering the whole fuss over the hedge. His leggings had been thrown away now; one leg ripped almost entirely away, the rest in barely concealing shreds. His eyes wandered across the open-plan space to the kitchen, where he spotted the kettle looking back at him innocently. Then his eyes moved back into the lounge, eyed the note that had been pushed through his letterbox from Roy, impolitely threatening him about the dangers of skiving training. Well he had had better things to do, he mused happily, thinking about Ike in the field. He really ought to find some of that wild mint. Good luck was just what he needed. Especially if he was going to have _any_ chance of a romantic relationship with Ike.

* * *

**Something almost human about the description of that mint... Thursday and Friday to come, will post in one go as both days are quite short. Marth gets a bit over-zealous in more ways than one...**


	5. Thursday and Friday

**Thursday and Friday together, as promised :)**

* * *

Thursday. Marth woke up to a loud knocking on his door. His groggy mind went through the motions of thought without actually registering anything as he wandered downstairs towards the front door. And then he had a sense of déjà vu. Ike. He raced back upstairs.

After brushing his teeth, changing into nice blue jeans and a casual t-shirt and carefully gelling his hair into an ironically just-out-of-bed look, he went downstairs.

"Think sexy," he mumbled to himself, before opening the door.

"Hi."

"SHIT!"

"Nice to see you too." Roy looked at him meaningfully, taking in the tousled hair, and the casual but well fitting apparel.

"I thought you were someone else," Marth explained.

"Pity."

Marth didn't know quite what to make of that. "Erm…well…"

"So are you ready to go running?"

"Yes, sure… sir." Then he remembered. "Actually, no, I haven't had breakfast…"

"Well then." Roy made a move as if to barge past him into the kitchen. Marth sighed. This really wasn't going to be his day.

"Eat eat eat eat."

"Do you _mind_?"

"Eat eat eat eat."

Marth salvaged his cereal bowl from the edge of the table for the zillionth time, in the process dropping his spoon. Roy whacked him with the fly swat. God, the fly swat. He's almost forgotten about that. He leant down to pick up his spoon.

"Eat eat eat eat." The table jiggled. Marth sighed, resigned, and grabbed the spoon. He could hear his cereal bowl jiggling along the table again. He was just about to sit up to tell Roy he really had to stop doing that when the cereal bowl landed, upended, on his head. He sat up slowly and gave Roy the most evil glare he could muster. Unfortunately, the effect was somewhat spoilt by cornflakes running in milky rivulets over his cheeks.

"Eat eat e– "

"SHUT. UP."

Roy stared at him blankly. The hand holding the fly swat twitched. Marth bolted out of the room.

Upstairs, he removed the bowl and washed his hair free of the cornflakes, thinking miserably of how his morning might have gone if it had been Ike at his door instead. _Stupid Marth_, he muttered to himself. Of course he should have expected Roy. Plucking the last stubborn cornflake out of his hair, he headed back downstairs and opened the front door to go out without even a glance at Roy, who, of course, followed him, fly swat in hand.

They ran by the river today, Marth's trainers squelching in the fresh mud. Yet again, the untiring Roy made Marth run mercilessly, and they ran mile after mile, taking a large loop around the area until, quite unexpectedly, Marth found himself approaching Notsleigh fields from another direction. He stopped in his tracks to admire the view, only to feel the harsh sting of the fly swat on his upper arm. Annoyed and longing to get away from Roy, he surveyed the five-and-a-half foot hedge that barred his entrance to the field beyond. There was no gap around here.

"Marth! Keep running!" Roy bellowed, but Marth ignored him. Before he could rationalise himself out of doing it, he put two firm hands on the top of the hedge, and with a large if slightly ungainly leap, vaulted over the hedge into the field.

It took a moment for his achievement to sink in. He had managed to vault a hedge. He had never vaulted _anything_, let alone something that high. Amazed, he looked down at his legs, as if to check if they were still his. Maybe this fitness regime had done something for him after all. He smiled. Now, to find some of that mint…

He spent about half an hour searching before he stumbled across a fallen log, and beginning to give up, he sat down on it and put his head in his hands. For some reason, he had pinned a lot of hopes on finding this lucky mint… maybe it was the way Ike had spoken of it that made it sound so charming, almost like a flower with a personality. What was it he had said? _'…its heart is big and tender' _As if it had a real heart, and feelings. He looked absently around him, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. The rest of Ike's words came back to him. Marth loved his kind tone, and was now wishing those words applied to him. _"It's quite small. It's normally all folded up in a bulb shape, and you have to carefully peel away each layer of leaves before you can get to the centre where the flower is. But sometimes when the sun is strong it unfolds itself for you, and its heart is big and tender, topped with a pretty blue flower the colour of your hair._" Hang on. Maybe he was having a revelation. Marth swayed slightly on the log. _Carefully peel away the layers to get to the centre?_ That _was_ a bit like him, really, if he thought about it. He was quite shy most of the time, kept his true self to himself. And his heart – big and tender? And then Ike had said the flower was the colour of his hair… Was Ike referring to him? Was that how Ike saw him? _Pretty blue flower._ And the way he had said it so tenderly…Marth blushed. But then… was Ike gay? Did Ike _like_ him? At the thought, a big smile spread across his face. Then it wouldn't matter if Ike knew he wasn't a girl – he might like him! Another phrase came to mind. '…_I liked you in a dress._'

"Yes!" Marth squealed, leaping off the log freshly enthused. '…_sometimes when the sun is strong it unfolds itself for you…_' Was that what Ike hoped for? Well Marth's sun _was_ strong, Marth's sun was Ike, and he would tell Ike how he felt… He felt nervous at the thought. Maybe he would wait until the end of the marathon before he said anything. Sighing, and feeling like he owed it to Roy, he turned and began to jog.

* * *

Friday. Marth woke and leapt out of bed, changing quickly and heading downstairs. A loud knocking began on the door. Marth ignored it and sat down to a peaceful breakfast of cereal. Then he splashed some water on his face to wake him up a bit more, did some stretches, and opened the door.

"Yes I have had breakfast," he informed a surprised Roy. "Shall we go?" Roy could only watch dumbfounded as Marth jogged away into the distance, and then, breaking out of his reverie, he followed behind.

Today Marth led the run, jogging easily around the large park, along the river, past Notsleigh fields and on towards St Loun's Church. He ran and ran, thinking not of distance, only of improving himself… he had to be good enough for Ike… if he couldn't keep pace with him then he would be running on his own and that was an idea too horribly lonesome to think about…

"Are you planning to run the whole route in reverse?" Roy asked as they turned another corner.

"No… but it's good to get a general idea of how the route looks on the ground. So far I've only seen it on maps."

"You can follow the other runners."

"What if I'm running at the front?"

"Steady on, I don't think you're ready for _that_." Roy chuckled. "Are you enjoying running all of a sudden then?"

Marth ignored him. "But you _do_ think I can run this thing?"

"I didn't think so before… but yes," Roy acknowledged, actually sounding a bit proud.

"Thanks." Marth allowed himself a small smile as he picked up the pace. "Do you think I can keep up with Ike?"

"Oh I dare say so."

Beside him hedgerows and trees fell away as he entered the small village of Casslock. The tall spire of St Loun's cast a cool, welcoming shadow over Marth for a brief moment as he ran on. People he passed smiled and waved, knowing or guessing what he was training for. Yes, he had to get better and faster, he had to be able to run with Ike…

"Wait." Was Roy asking him to _wait_? Marth ground to a halt and turned around, but Roy didn't look out of breath.

"Are you just running this for your own sake, or are you going to be sponsored and give the money to charity?"

"I…I'd never considered that." The only thing that had been on Marth's mind was Ike.

"I think you should."

"Which charity?"

Roy looked far away for a moment, and then his eyes refocused on Marth. "The Disability Support Centre. It's a small, little known centre that helps people with disabilities and relies entirely on donations. It's… a worthwhile place." Marth sensed this was a soft spot with Roy.

"Aren't you going to run the Handers Championship yourself?" Marth asked kindly.

"I was going to… but this year I'm running for a PTSD clinic. Of course, I could split the money between both charities… but I wondered if you would support one for me, and then there would be more money for both charities."

"Well…" Marth certainly didn't have any idea for a charity of his own. Why not support a charity of Roy's? "Sure."

"Thank you." Roy smiled, and for the first time Marth saw him as he was without the cruel mentoring persona. He shook his hand and then resumed running.

A long line of trees were followed by a dirt track alongside a swamp. He could almost smell the mud in the air as he jogged on. A few more fields passed – these was farmers fields, filled with crops awaiting harvest. There was a long bend that cut alongside some of these fields before looping back, back towards the main city were the run started. He had to keep running, just keep running…

"Are you trying to run the whole thing in reverse?"

Marth, who had gotten lost in his own thoughts, perked up at Roy's words and realised just how tired he was. In fact, he couldn't move any longer. His legs moved on of their own accord. Marth knew that if he stopped he would just collapse, all his energy spent.

"We're just over halfway there! If we run back now you'll be running a journey longer than the Championship itself!"

But Marth couldn't make it back. His legs had ground to a halt, and now painfully aware of his tiredness, Marth fell slowly to the ground, and then lay on one side and closed his eyes. What had he been thinking? They had been running for hours. Marth didn't know how many hours, but the sun was just about noon, and if they had started around 7am and now it was around noon… he had been running 5 hours without a break. But that didn't make any sense… at an average speed of around 5mph, for five hours... he should have travelled 25 miles. But he was only at the halfway point… or was he? All those endless fields… pushing and pushing himself… past even the point of feeling his own tiredness… thinking of nothing and everything…

"Marth? Marth? Shit, where have you taken us?" Roy knelt down beside him and checked his pulse. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

The world was swimming, longing for darkness and rest. "I… didn't realise… why didn't you…?"

"I thought you knew what you were doing. I wasn't exactly keeping track of our progress. God, we're not halfway at all, are we? This is far too far out."

"Oeurghhhh," Marth moaned, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. "How far are we from Britch Tower?"

"I'd guess about 20 miles. We should have turned around ages ago."

He had been fine… what had happened to him? He had just been running and running… where had the time gone? It was only noon but Marth felt as if he might have been running a year. It seemed so sudden. He had only been running…

"Marth, breathe. Marth!" Roy slapped him and Marth gasped. Even breathing seemed to require too much energy… it would be so easy just to let himself go.

"Marth! Oh you fool, you stupid idiot. What were you pushing yourself for?" The concern was plain in Roy's voice.

"Do you have a mobile on you?" Marth didn't respond. "Marth! Do. You. Have. A. Mobile?"

Marth shook his head loosely. In the back of his mind he heard Roy swear violently. In his mind he saw the endless road stretching before him, miles and miles and miles of it, emotionlessly waiting for him. Ike… he had to be good enough for Ike… Two strong hands slipped under his back and he felt himself being lifted.

"Just sleep Marth. Sleep and breathe easy." Roy broke into a gentle jog, and the soft rocking motion finally lulled Marth into a deep sleep.

* * *

**Oh dear... Will Marth still be able to run the marathon on Sunday?**


	6. Saturday

Saturday.

"_SHIT! _GENTLE, WOMAN!" A familiar voice broke into Marth's endless dream of road with Ike waiting at the end, but the more he ran, the further away Ike got…

"Look, you're waking him up. Shush!"

"Then don't press my blisters so goddamn hard you stupid cow!"

"Stay still. You're the worst patient _ever_. How am I supposed to put these bandages on if you keep twitching?"

The road began to fade away, taking Ike with it. No, no, not yet…

"Marth? Honey, are you ok?" Marth opened his eyes. Zelda leant over him, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him sitting up. As if he could anyway. His whole body ached. He felt like he would happily sleep some more… but he had to get up and run. Forcing his muscles to obey him, he pushed Zelda's hand away and sat up.

"I…" Where had his voice gone? It felt encrusted, sealed away somewhere he couldn't access it. Zelda passed him a glass of water. Why had he talked himself into running the damn Championship?

"What were you doing?" She asked him after he had taken a few gulps.

Marth mimed for some paper and a pen, and wrote _Training for the Handers Championship._

"Well, obviously. But that wasn't training – that was suicidal! Look at yourself!"

_Mirror? _he wrote.

Zelda handed him a small pocket mirror and he looked in it. He looked like he was at death's door. His eyes were red, his face pale, and his lips dry and cracked. He thrust the mirror back at Zelda, horrified.

"Why did you talk yourself into running this Championship Marth?" she asked rhetorically, sighing. "I never asked you to run the Championship. I just thought you would stand a better chance of getting with Ike if you went to the gym. But no, you had to go and talk yourself into it to impress Ike, of course…"

_I have to go and run, _he wrote.

"Did you see yourself in the mirror or what?"

_I have to train!_

"No Marth, you are not going _anywhere_."

Marth sighed, acknowledging his defeat. He caught sight of a familiar figure on the floor behind Zelda, leaning back on some cushions. It was Roy. Catching his glance, Zelda moved out of the way so he had a clear view. Marth gasped. Roy was… he was… undeniably…missing both his legs from the thigh down. Propped up in the corner were two metal, mechanical-looking legs which explained the phenomenon, but Marth still couldn't believe it. His mouth moved wordlessly in shock. The base of the stumps of Roy's thighs were badly blistered, bruised, and in some places cut slightly. Questions flooded his mind, but Zelda, sensing the onslaught, took the pen from Marth's grasp and shook her head.

"Later. Rest." Marth needed no further invitation; it was just too hard to stay awake. His eyes closed and unconsciousness took him.

Much later, Marth began to rise once more through the layers of sleep back into consciousness. No loud noise had woken him this time, it was just time to wake up. He adjusted himself on the sofa. It occurred to him that he wasn't in his house, which must mean that he was either in Zelda's or Roy's. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The light was dimmer, it must be evening. How long had he slept? Gingerly he pushed himself off the sofa and onto his feet, only to find his knees giving way beneath him and bringing him to the floor.

"Here." It was Zelda, handing him an old-fashioned umbrella. Marth grabbed the handle gratefully and used it like a crutch to help him stand.

"There's a downstairs bathroom just through there," Zelda said gently, pointing. Marth nodded and wandered slowly away, acutely aware of the strain on his legs and feet. What had he done?! _Stupid Marth_, he told himself. But he could follow that train of thought later. Right now he had to, quite literally, take things one step at a time.

After a nice hot shower Marth felt fresher and healthier already. He changed back into his clothes and wandered towards the kitchen, drying his hair with a towel.

"You alright then? Want some tea?"

"Y…" Marth tried, but finding his voice still absent, just nodded. Zelda boiled the kettle and in a few minutes handed him a cup.

"There. Drink up, I gotta make a phone call." She left him with his tea and wandered into the hallway where she picked up the phone and dialled. Marth wandered closer to eavesdrop, trying to be a subtle as possible.

"Link? Yeah, look, there's no way Marth is going to run that Handers Championship tomorrow… yes, I know what that means… look, Roy carried him here – apparently the poor man had run himself half to death training for the darn thing… Hey that's not fair! No, I know I've lost, but I don't see why I should have to… Link, that's unfair. Marth is unfit for running! He's deathly pale, absolutely exhausted – he needs to sleep!"

"I…" Where had his voice gone? Marth took another gulp of tea and tried again. "I… can run."

Zelda slammed the phone down and turned to face him before putting her hands on her hips. "So you really are suicidal."

"I will…run." Marth took a deep breath, trying not to think about what that meant, even just feeling the shadow of the thought on him made him nauseous.

"Marth, you can't. You saw yourself in the mirror. You look half dead, more than half even. I don't know what you were thinking yesterday, but today you have to face the consequences of that choice. Namely, you have to rest."

"I…have to…run!" he complained, but just then the image of a long road stretching miles in front of him made him sway, as if a gust of wind had just hit him. Naturally Zelda picked up on that straight away.

"See! You can't even stand up straight! You have to rest, whether you like it or not. If you don't rest now there isn't even a _slight_ chance of you running the Handers Championship tomorrow."

"Zelda, I need to do this."

"What for Marth? I would really like to know. You _know_ you aren't fit enough to run, I can see it in your face. And I know that must be disappointing after all your training, but I'm sure you can let it go. I mean, seriously – you _want_ to run 31 miles?"

Marth nodded grimly, and tried to change topic. "Roy carried me all the way back here?"

"Yes. It cost him in blisters, as you saw." She pulled a face. "But don't run away from my question – why do you want to run this so much, Marth?"

"Ike," Marth replied simply. His expression said the rest.

"You mean…" Zelda seemed to think this over. "Ok. But why run the Handers Championship, how is that going to help you if you… like him?"

"I'll impress him."

"Marth, there's more to relationships than just impressing your partner." From her expression she seemed like she was still a bit shocked at realising that Marth _liked_ Ike.

"I…" Why _did_ he want to run this Championship so much?

"Marth, in your state, the only person you should be running the Handers Championship for, if indeed you are still insisting on this madness, is yourself."

Marth stared at her blankly. "I will run."

* * *

**Sorry about the slow update. Review and enjoy :)**


	7. Sunday

Sunday. Marth finished the last of his push-ups and then stood and began his stretches. Zelda watched him from the doorway. Marth knew she was there, but continued his stretches anyway, ignoring her. Eventually Zelda broke her silence and spoke up.

"Marth."

Marth ignored her.

"Marth?"

He stretched his calf and thigh muscles again. Then he straightened and stretched sideways, and then swung his arms, stretching his shoulder muscles.

"Well? Marth? _Can you hear me_?"

"I'm running," he said flatly. Inside he felt as nervous as jelly, but he wasn't going to let it show. His tense stomach threatened to empty itself each time the image of a long road leapt into his mind. Yesterday hadn't done anything for his confidence, even though it was the furthest he had ever run. Apprehensively, he reached for the white dress he had worn so long ago when he had first gone to the gym.

"Marth? This is madness. Look at you. You need to be sleeping, not running a 31 mile Championship."

Marth ignored her again. It was two hours until the start of the race. Enough time to have breakfast, meet up with Roy for a quick warm up and then arrive early at the start line.

After breakfast he jogged gently through the city, heading for Britch Tower. The image of a painfully long road stretching endlessly in front of him was now getting persistently harder to push from his thoughts, but distraction was at hand in the form of a rapidly approaching fly swat.

"Didn't think you'd be running today, Marth," said Roy, who sounded pleased.

"I didn't think you'd be running either, not with your blisters," Marth commented.

"Ah well, a good salve solves everything."

"How long now?"

"About forty five minutes. Drink?" Roy offered him a bottle of water and Marth took it nervously. Roy noticed his hands shaking and was about to comment on it when another voice interrupted.

"Hello."

"Ike. Hi." Marth turned around and smiled at him.

"Missed you at the gym yesterday."

"Yes. Sorry." _Endless road…_

"Are you ready to run?"

"Erm…y-yes," he said shakily. _Endless road…_

Ike smiled at him and Marth felt reassured by his expression. He was alright. He could do this. Hell, he almost _did_ do it on Friday… _Endless road…_ Marth stomach clenched unpleasantly.

"Excuse me a moment to stretch," said Ike, moving away slightly so he could stretch his legs and arms. Marth sat down on a bench and put his head in his hands. Britch tower, the old and much loved bell tower that stood separate from the church that used it, stuck its intricately carved spire high into the sky, a testament to human ability. The shadow fell over the bench where Marth sat, giving him some respite from the unusually strong sun. He lost track of time as he sat there, clutching the water bottle Roy had given him, nervous about the race, nervous of confessing his feelings to Ike.

"…Marth… come on, the race is about to start."

Marth looked up. It was Ike. "Huh?"

"The race is going to start! Come on." Ike helped hauled him to his feet and for a moment they were embarrassingly close, but the moment passed, broken by a voice from a loudspeaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Take your positions! The Handers Championship is about to begin!"

The bell in Britch Tower rang; a long, rich sound, and the tsunami of runners spilt out over the road, reluctantly and then with increasing speed, leading the trail through the High Street. Either side tall blocks of office building alternated with high-end shops, restaurants and jewellery stores. Marth kept up with Ike, and now they were running, felt a lot better. The week of hard fitness training had certainly helped, and his lungs didn't feel like they would seize up any time soon.

More shops passed, and the tide of runners followed a turn around a blocked off junction. There would be no cars around here today. Now they ran past more shops, but the quality had gone slightly from the arrogant grandeur of the high street, more humble cake shops appeared and shop windows began to show those familiar big red stickers announcing the latest price cut-back.

The roads grew narrower, widening briefly to show an elusive glimpse of the large park and then thinning again, winding away. The city was slowly being left behind. Now there were office blocks, endless brick and concrete towers. The frontiers of these buildings had been left to the mercy of the birds and elements, and their oppressive height pushed Marth to lengthen his stride, eager to be out of their shadow.

Ike still hadn't said anything, and Marth wondered if he was just saving his breath. He was about to say something to break the silence when in a series of sharp turns the twisting crowd swallowed Ike in a blur of colour.

"Ike?" Panicking slightly, Marth looked to and fro, peering between the sweaty bodies for that familiar blue hair and bandana. Now the office blocks had gone too, there was evidence of housing, and people walking their dogs cheered as the runners passed by.

"Ike?" Some over-eager woman with a large bust pushed past him, throwing him off balance. For a moment he thought he was going to fall, but a firm hand took his arm and put him back on his feet.

"Nice dress by the way," came the familiar voice, as his helper accelerated onwards, bandana flapping in the breeze. Marth smiled.

In minutes the city was falling behind, the suburbs approaching with their manicured lawns and scrawny tabby-cats. An old lady fanned herself distastefully as she waited for the runners to clear enough for her to cross the road. The stream of runners thinned now, the professionals leading as the suburbs grew thinner, became roads and separate housing estates. Here was an odd mixture of rich and poor, it was not uncommon to see a mansion lined either side with terraced houses, or to see in alternate lawns marble statues and broken tricycles.

More miles slowly began to peel away, turning to more rural areas, where there was more oxygen to breathe and better scenery. After the next corner a long wide path followed, lined either side with tall trees. It was a beautiful scene. Turning his head slightly, Marth saw that Ike was as pleased with the pretty path as he was. A romantic idea struck him. The timing wasn't what he had originally wanted, but the moment just seemed to fit.

"Do you know anything about these trees?" he began.

"No." Ike inclined his head slightly, watching Marth out of his peripheral vision.

"I used to paint under one that was near my local park when I was younger."

"You paint?"

_No, he'd just made it up._ "Sure, not much though." _I.e., not at all._

"How about that. I would love to do something so creative, but I never have the time."

"Yes. I love those trees. Strong and sturdy, but still sensitive to gentle breezes. Easy to climb, but not to the top. Always reliable… and good for hanging swings on," he added quickly on the end.

"Sounds like a great tree. Does it have a name?"

Marth took a deep breath. This was it. His confession. "Ike."

There was a long silence, and Marth felt a flush creeping up his neck. Ike seemed to be thinking something over.

"I see," he said eventually. "That mint I told you about… is called 'mentha timida'."

_Shit. Well how was he supposed to know that the mint was actually a mint?_ Marth blushed furiously, wishing a hole would just open and swallow him. But what had he based his assumptions on, really? His own fancy, a few nice conversations and a slightly sentimental description of a plant?

"Don't worry, it's fine," Ike hurried.

"I have been the world's _biggest_ fool," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Ike.

"No, it's fine."

But it wasn't. Marth increased his speed, subtly letting a gap develop, which was naturally filled by other runners. He felt terrible – his shame took over him like an illness, making it harder to breathe. How could he have been so stupid? Well the tree-lined path was coming to an end now; perhaps some new scenery would refresh his thoughts. Of _course_ Ike didn't feel the same. It was going to be hard to put that out of his mind, but he had to, he needed to concentrate on pacing himself.

Several miles later he was bearing a terrible stitch. And yet more and more road lay ahead of him. It was a hot day and there were many mirages on the road, making it twist and distort before him as he ran. Ike ran beside him silently, saving his breath for breathing rather than talking. No strain showed in his face apart from the sweat that shined his forehead, and compared to how Marth must look… Despair washed over him. How many miles had they run now? He looked up and saw a red flag marking the halfway point perhaps a few hundred yards away. Why was he doing this? Ike didn't even feel the same way about him, never would… what was the point in him running this marathon? For Roy's charity? Yes, he should run it for the charity. His breath felt funny as he ran. He couldn't go another metre, he just couldn't…

His feet slowed, and he couldn't muster the willpower to speed them up again. They slowed, and slowed, as if he was wading through thick sludge. Eventually he stopped. He stared blankly into the distance, struggling to breathe, his heart thudding in his chest. Memories of yesterday filled his mind – the endless road and the exhaustion, how he had just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep forever.

"Marth? Marth?" Ike had stopped, was looking at him, concerned. Marth just nodded breathlessly, waved a hand in a resigned way, telling him to keep running, and leave him behind.

"Come on Marth, we're not halfway yet!"

Marth shook his head slowly from side to side, and then faster, more determined. "I can't."

"Why not? We ran halfway when we went jogging on Wednesday. Come on, it's only a few hundred yards left to halfway. Marth?"

"No. I can't." Marth kept on shaking his head. A drop of sweat dripped off his eyebrow. His breath was shaking, his muscles felt like they were about to give up. Ike didn't know about his running yesterday, would never know. Marth could never tell him how he had kept on running, just so that he would be fit enough to run with Ike today… because he thought they had something… what a fool.

"Hey, I know you can do this. I'm not going to leave you behind."

"Go!" Marth exclaimed, as loud as he could bear.

"Why?"

"Because I can't. So just leave me here."

"I'm not going to leave you behind!" Ike looked annoyed, almost angry, but confused too. "Why are you so upset?" he asked, looking impatiently on as other runners overtook them.

"You…" Marth shook his head. "The mint. I thought you were referring to me and… well I was a fool, leave it at that."

"I said it was fine." Ike sighed.

_Yes, so you're not offended or treating me like I'm carrying a disease. But you don't feel the same way!_

"Marth, come on, I want you to run this with me. Come on!"

"Why?"

Ike leant forwards sharply, hesitated, and then seized Marth by the shoulders and kissed him, holding him there as he deepened the kiss, running his hands over the fabric of Marth's dress. Marth, shocked but certainly not unwilling, kissed him back, and they stood there entwined in each others arms for a long time, no longer caring as the endless flow of runners moved on past them. Eventually Ike pulled away and stared at him intently, holding Marth by the shoulders.

"But…" stammered Marth.

"But what?"

"But you didn't say anything! You just said it was fine, pulled an expression that could have meant anything, and continued running! I don't get it!" Marth shook from relief and anticipation. "Well?"

"I meant that it was fine – I felt the same way! Fine! Absolutely goddamn great!" Ike grinned at him. "I just wasn't sure what to do given we were in the process of running a marathon, and I was also desperately fighting the urge to grab you there and then and drag you off to a hotel! I didn't want to embarrass you." Ike blushed and Marth smiled, finally certain of himself. This time it was Marth who lead the kiss, and in the background of passing people he was vaguely aware of the sound of cheering. When he stopped he stroked Ike's cheek affectionately.

"Well I don't think I'd have minded very much," he blushed, "but if that's the way you feel… then I guess the sooner this marathon is over the better!" He winked, surprising himself with his own confidence, and rejoined the flow of runners, looking over at Ike, who was watching him go.

"What are you waiting for?" he called. "Let's go!"

It was getting consistently harder to run, but now Ike was there, so much easier at the same time, and the extra adrenalin helped. Frequent glances at Ike showed a small smile occasionally tweaking at his tired expression. The race passed by farms, and the farmers waved. It was probably the only time of year when they ever saw more than 100 people in the same place. The wave of runners proceeded onwards, looping back towards the city, this time approaching on the western side, much more rural and pollution free. Here they passed by horse riders in red jodhpurs and blue hats, all belonging to some riding school or other. The horses, with complete sereneness, halted and waited as the runners passed them by, watching them with their calm dark eyes.

And finally, a welcoming sight for weary eyes – Notsleigh fields at last, their flowers an ecstasy of colour. Past St Loun's Church and along the river, many footsteps treading the fallen leaves into a solid carpet of autumnal colour. By some unspoken consent both Marth and Ike reached out to hold the others hand, and thus united they crossed the finishing line before tumbling into a welcoming bed of long grass.

"Well done," came a familiar voice above Marth's head. He opened his eyes reluctantly and let a large hand help him up.

"Thank you sir."

"You can call me Roy." He wore shorts today, and his mechanical legs were obvious. He followed Marth's gaze and smiled.

"I've had them ever since the war. Lost the originals to a landmine."

"Oh." Marth nodded sadly.

Roy leant in closer and whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but these mechanical legs make it a lot easier to run. It's like having springs attached."

Marth laughed. A deeper laugh came from behind him and he turned to see Ike.

"Remember what I said before?" he asked, dangling a mobile phone in front of his face. "The cab's on the way."

Marth blushed, and stammered something incomprehensible. He was just trying to form a 'thankyou' when another set of familiar voices caught his attention.

"…twenty….thirty….fifty…and one hundred. Happy now?" Link muttered, annoyed.

"Yes, very," replied Zelda.

Marth turned around to find Link passing cash notes to Zelda. They still hadn't noticed him and were talking amongst themselves.

"So predictable. I knew he would talk himself into running that marathon."

"How could you be so sure that he would fancy Ike and try to impress him that way?"

"Girl's intuition."

"But poor Marth… telling him Ike was straight so that he would wear a dress, because Marth knows he looks like a cute girl in a dress…" Link chuckled.

"And giving him a secondary motive to seduce Ike, even though he would probably have tried anyway. I felt quite safe in betting that I could get Marth to run a marathon in a dress. Why did you ever bet against me?" She laughed and Link clapped her on the back amicably.

"YOU _WHAT_?!" Marth yelled. Link and Zelda jumped and turned to face him.

"Look, please, it was only harmless f–"

"_You blackmailed me into trying to seduce Ike so that I would end up running the marathon in a dress for a stupid BET?!_" Marth was fuming.

"What's this about seducing me?" Ike interrupted, in a voice so thick with intent it sent shivers down Marth's spine.

"_They,_" he pointed, "used my feelings against me, put me through _hours_ of torture at the gym and _hours_ of torture out running, had a fly-swat-happy mentor _stalk_ me…"

"So you didn't actually care for me, you just figured you'd seduce me for some bet?" Ike asked incredulously.

"No…no it's not like that…" Marth, flustered, thought for a moment. "If I didn't _want_ to seduce you I'd never have accepted the bet in the first place!" he blushed furiously at his confession, but Ike seemed pleased, and leant over to kiss him.

"Hang on a minute…" said Zelda. "So you two actually…"

"Yes, we _are_ together," Ike supplied, making Marth blush even more. Honesty, he hoped some day scientists would come up with a cure for embarrassment. Ike put his arm around Marth and they wandered away towards the road to wait for their cab. Once they were safely out of hearing distance, Link turned back to Zelda.

"You can give me fifty of that back," he said triumphantly. "I _knew_ they would get together."

THE END.

* * *

**And that's it everybody! Hope you've liked it. Please review :D**


End file.
